hormonal protection than a thousand pastors long for your belly
carved in gold and golden honey
covering your breasts and skin of garlic
Become
cursed night as the moon at sunset
filtering your tides
look at me as Herculaneum in
Strait dropping a sea of curls on your chest
second to second flying in your sea
but playing with their feet and loneliness
knowing that this is not sad, that's not the end.
image: http://www.poezija.ezgeta.com/
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